


A Predator Screaming With Hunger

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, Gen, Human/Monster Romance, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Predator/Prey, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: A human-esque being made of six wolf-like creatures track an unsuspecting woman by scent. On this night with a full moon, the beast must consume.





	A Predator Screaming With Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Just a re-write of the Du Riechst So Gut '98 music video! I really liked the idea of them having a conjoined mind despite there being six, thus they refer to themselves as 'us' and 'we'. I was contemplating how they would determine which of the six were to emerge and become in control, so I figured one of them would just have to have a desire greater than the others. A stronger driving force.
> 
> Till's one line in this fic is based on the lyrics from the song, the part when he's actually singing to her in the music video:  
> "Don't betray me | Stop screaming and don't resist"

There is a scent in the air. Something peculiar, something warm, something sweet. It is pungent, it is beckoning, it is intoxicating. But it is faint. It will be stronger elsewhere.

The full moon is calling to us tonight. We must feast.

Fog hangs thickly in the raven sky, shrouds us in secrecy as we prowl the forest floor, searching, searching. Hoof prints of a beast mark the ground, a trail previously blazed by passing carriages, wagons, and people. But now, a horse has ridden across it. We follow. The aroma grows ever stronger.

As we run, we’re surrounded by the combined melody of our ragged breathing, the thumping of our feet upon the ground, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the hooting of an owl. Where is it? What is this interesting scent?

After an hour of searching along this trail, we come closer and closer. It is unmistakably the scent of a human. A sweet human. A _vulnerable_ human, ripe to be consumed. The full moon is out tonight. We need to eat.

Slowing to a trot, we come upon what appears to be a beacon of white in the darkness of the forest floor. It becomes apparent it is the handkerchief of a woman; it’s embroidered with a striking rose. It reeks of her skin, of her sweat. One of us screams.

**I MUST SMELL HER**

We reform into the being of a man, a man tall and slender, with burning red eyes and a hunger. We clutch the handkerchief in a thin hand, collapse back into a tree, seated upon the cold, wet leaves below us. We are overtaken by the indescribable hunger, the desire, the need. We bring the lace cloth to our face, feel the faint dampness of her sweat. The aroma is overwhelming. It has an intoxicating effect on us. We begin to salivate. We can’t handle our uncontrollable urges—not like this, not when the moon is out, not when our starvation is rampant. We drop forward onto our hands and knees, clutching the handkerchief tightly in long, bony fingers. We become our truest form, with a cracking of bone and a piercing howl.

Immediately, we break into a sprint, kicking up loose dirt and the leaves underneath our claws. The scent is lingering—we can follow it, easily now. We cross through the forest, break into a clearing which bore artful columns made by stone, gardens, and a looming castle. We race up the stairs, our nails sharp and loud against the marble. Submerged within the darkness, we are hidden. Through the brightly lit panels of the windows lining the castle wall, we see a crowd of humans, all bearing black gowns and suits. But then we spot her. Unmistakably, it is her. She is dressed in blood. In crimson red. One of us screams, ragged and ravenous.

**I MUST SEE HER**

Bones cracking, muscle stretching, limbs lengthening, we become another form of man. Smallest of the six, we bear softer features, vibrant eyes, coarse hair decorating our face. We loom from the darkness, peering through the window at our prey with the sweat-dampened handkerchief clutched in our fingers. Curious to the events occurring within the castle, we scan the interior. There are many people. Walking by, sitting at tables, talking, laughing, smiling. _She_ is sitting with others; playing a card game, it seems. How will we approach her? How will we obtain her, consume her? Hypnotized, we watch her, hungrily, one hand raising to press intimately to the cold glass. We must have her.

We watch her intently, contemplating, planning, until she rises. She moves elegantly, a soft, uncertain expression on her beautiful face. She disappears within the crowd of ugly humans.

We cannot lose her. We begin towards the double doors leading into the castle, confident and determined. One of us cries out, clawing at the walls.

**I MUST FIND HER**

We enter the hall more slender, more handsome, taller. Curls of silver fall about our forehead and ears. With broad hands, we don a white mask, her handkerchief clutched in grasp. We move with courage, resolve, our stride long and confident. We breathe in the mixture of scents born from the gathering of humans. It is all rank, it is all unwanted, save for _one._ We latch onto it, track it closely. We navigate between the shoulders of the unpleasant humans, pausing occasionally to lean in and breathe in their scent, if only to detect the slight whiff of _hers_ —she must have brushed past these humans.

The castle halls are long, full of tables of food and laughing humans. We will not give up.

The scent is growing stronger.

Our hunger is intensifying.

Suddenly, we see her. The striking crimson catches our eyes. She is gazing in our direction, her cherry red lips open, her eyes unreadable behind the mask she wears. The screaming, the howling inside of us strengthens.

As we race towards her, in controlled, impatient strides, nudging past infuriating humans who needn’t block our way, she steps out through the back door, disappearing past sheer white drapery and into the darkness. We cast a glance over our shoulder, wary of any humans who may follow, and then duck out through the door and into the night.

Scanning the courtyard with piercing red eyes, we cannot see her, but we can smell her. One of us screams, deeper and louder and longer than the others.

**I MUST HAVE HER**

A face more rugged, scarred, and handsome. Longer hair falls across the sides of our face, over our forehead. The white mask upon our face is unmoving. We are bigger, stronger, but somehow more in control. Eagerly, we race up the stone stairs leading into a garden with angelic statues. There, she stands. The rain waiting within the dark clouds has begun to fall, pattering noisily across the leaves of the trees around us, against the marble of the statues, soaking into our clothing and hair. We do not care, for we have found her again.

We approach stealthily, quietly, undetected until we kneel beside her, earning a quick glance from beckoning eyes. She now lacks the red mask, baring her enchanting features to our hungry gaze. She turns to us, displaying the entirety of her magnificent crimson dress, decorated by lace and roses. With one elegant hand pressed upon her chest, the other draped against the hip of her gown, she watches us, wary but curious. Extending one hand slowly, we deliver the soaked handkerchief to her. Realization lights up her face.

Gingerly, softly, she clutches our broad hand in hers—her fingers are warm, petite. The touch has us rising onto our feet again; we face her fearlessly, our striking red eyes boring into hers, unwaveringly. Our hearts are pounding, our blood rushing. The sweet aroma is overpowering. She watches us with curious, searching eyes and a slightly open mouth. She is vulnerable. She is delicious.

Reaching up slowly, she carefully removes the mask from our faces, revealing our ashen features and the true color of our eyes. She is unafraid. She watches us courageously, with intrigue. She will not run away.

“Don’t betray us,” we growl, our voice low and rumbling, almost beast-like, “Do not resist what we must have.”

We say this to her with such intensity , our piercing eyes dissecting hers—she doesn’t look wary, or confused. She looks brave, curious, enchanted. We cannot control our desire; we squeeze her slender hand in both of ours, twists our fingers together, and she reciprocates it wholeheartedly, entirely. It is enough to convince us to make our move. The rain beats down on us as we meet halfway, our lips clashing against hers. The scent of her aroma is pungent, saccharine, intoxicating. We are dizzy with lust, with our insatiable, insane hunger. Our mouths move together in a frenzy dance of desire, a desire one cannot simply put into words.

Snarling begins to erupt from within our throat—we are trying to break free, to consume her beyond just the sharing of our lips. She pulls back, looks at us with awe and a faint mask of fear. She looks good enough to eat, with lipstick-smeared lips, dilated eyes, flushed cheeks.

“Come,” we growl, a deep vibration in our chest. She nods, eyes wide and trained nowhere else but on us.

It is like a fever dream as we lead her, by the wrist, through the winding rooms of the castle, navigating between the aggravating, filthy humans who provide nothing but obstacles. Our thoughts are on fire, screaming, clawing, panting—the mixture of our clashing desperation to _get out_ and _take her_.

Within the dimly lit chamber of the castle, only candlelight keeps us visible. The maiden lowers herself onto the grand canopy bed with a gracefulness, her beautiful face bearing willingness and vulnerability. We approach in calm strides, conveying a sense of control on our face and in the lax posture of our body—but inside, we are snarling, fighting, howling. She eases off her cream-white stockings, draws down the collar of her magnificent dress, pulling away the roses and the crimson red, exposing the milky white skin that we must sink our fangs into. We cannot resist anymore. We are all screaming.

**I MUST STROKE HER WET SKIN**

**I MUST TASTE HER**

**I MUST SEE HER BLOOD**

**I MUST RIP APART HER FLESH**

**I MUST HOLD HER HEART IN MY HANDS**

**WE WILL CONSUME HER**

Reaching up with sure hands, we curl our fingers into the silken white of our waistcoat and rip it open with a scattering of buttons; our conjoined being rumbles and quakes within the prison of this human-esque body. Our true forms begin to burst forth from within the flesh of this body, snarling and howling and snapping jaws. She gasps sharply, begins to back up over the expanse of the canopy bed, a look of horror on her lipstick-smeared face. Now she is afraid, now she is wary. The volume of our growling increases as we sense her fear.

Lighting crashes outside, like a warning. Our human face remains stony, while the faces of our true forms scream from outside the body, eager to get out, eager to escape the flesh prison. We approach her steadily, without hesitance. The repulsion on her face has ebbed away, replaced by only wide eyes and an open mouth. She is curious again, we can tell.

Planting a knee upon the bed, we lean in towards her. And she leans in towards us, hands propped against the bed, atop her rose-layered gown. She is no longer wary. She gazes upon us with lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. She approves of us. We snarl and rumble with pleasure. The darkness falls across us, shrouding us from the outside world. Lightning strikes sharply, momentarily flashing us with light.

She is fearless. Our faces are close enough to smell hers, our plentiful saliva dripping down onto her cleavage, onto her beautiful dress. She is shaking, we notice. A hand not quite so human anymore raises to stroke at her jaw—she tips her head back, welcomes it with closed eyes.

It is time to feast.

Our human face peels back, our true form bursting forth from within the maw. She falls back onto her elbows; we come upon her as six.

 

Her pale, wet body is motionless. She is immodest, left wearing only the red ribbon around her throat. We rejoin, we converge—our beast-like bodies melt together, our long, fanged faces becoming disfigured and morphing into one more handsome. One of us screams, piercing and desperate.

**I MUST SHOW THEM**

We don her torn dress which lays limply at the floor of the bed. It fits like it was made for us. Turning, we depart from the room which stunk heavily of blood and semen. The carpet is smooth and soft under our bare feet. The humans are dancing. They are laughing. They are chatting, they are celebrating. They do not know what has happened.

But they will.

Gasps of shock and horror replace the sharp tapping of sleek shoes on sleeker floors, replaces the joyful chatting of the humans. The lovely classical music continues playing, innocent and unsuspecting, as we pace out slowly into the center of the ballroom. The rank humans part like the Red Sea for us. Blood is left behind with each bare footstep. Tension ripples through our body as we come to a stop in the center of the crowd. The humans cling to each other pathetically. We stand pridefully and fearlessly in the clearing. Her gown clings to our muscular body, sticky with blood and sweat and many other fluids. Long locks of clotted silver curls around our ears, stuck together with her crimson. Her rose handkerchief is clutched in one hand, bloody and ruined, on display.

Silence hangs thickly in the room. We stare at nothing in particular; we simply bathe in the horror, the realization of what’s occurred, and of what is occurring now. The rumbling begins again. The growling, the snapping, the snarling. We cannot resist the temptation anymore.

We explode into our true forms, melting into six beings made of fangs and claws and fur. The crowd screams, disperses, desperate for safety that shall never come, no matter how far they travel, no matter how many safety measures they practice. The humans could never, truly, escape us. But we must escape them—for they come brandishing guns.

Adrenaline and excitement courses through us like never before. We race through the winding staircases of the castle, cackling like hyenas as we knock over tall candle stands, shredding the carpet and exorbitant rugs under our claws. The humans chase after us helplessly, falling far behind for they lack the muscle and strength we possess. We burst through the chambers where we claimed our prey, leaping through the ajar window carelessly—wind rushes through our bloody fur, the cold air of the winter night clutching us immediately. Our heavy panting surrounds us in hot puffs of air. One of us howls with a tone of fear as we land.

**WE MUST ABSCOND**

We reshape ourselves into the human-like forms that we all loathe to become. But now, we are no longer one being. Now, we are six. Six with individual minds, with differing desires, feelings, tastes. Tallest of us all, and bearing the least amount of fur in this human form, he strides with unease in his step, leaving us behind effortlessly. Unspoken, amused laughter rings between our linked—but not quite fully conjoined—minds. We grin in the darkness, baring rows of pointed teeth. _He_ always became rather anxious after a successful hunt.

Silence claims us as we walk confidently through the field, hearing the diminishing cries of shock and confusion from the humans left behind in the castle now tainted with sin. Our white cloaks billow around us like fog. Leaves and branches crack underfoot. The moon hangs above us. The pounding rain has diminished to light kisses, and the lightning has retreated in defeat.

Now, our blinding hunger has been satiated—for now. Perhaps someday, we shall return to seek out our mistress. A mistress that is not quite human, any longer.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
